


i hate you, don't leave me

by annabeth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Bad boy beka, Cheating, Cutting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infidelity, Jjbek, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mental Illness, Sexual Content, Smoking, Suicide Attempt, Underage - Freeform, Underage Drinking, bipolar JJ, borderline JJ, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 09:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: "You serious?" Otabek asks, watching the way the blue of Jean-Jacques's eyes glints in the dark, a shaft of moonlight spread across the floor and permeating the blackness just a little.





	i hate you, don't leave me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blownwish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/gifts), [shadesofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades/gifts).



> Please heed the tags! This story is dark, and has a lot of potential triggers!
> 
> I have had the worst writer's block for weeks, and so I asked [Blownwish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish) for a prompt. This isn't exactly what she wanted, but I tried! Thank you, honey, for breaking the block for me. ♥

"Otabek! You wanna grab dinner with us?" JJ waves, Izzy clinging to his arm.

"No thanks. I'll pass." Otabek puts his sunglasses back on and exits the lobby without another word.

~&~

When Otabek returns to his room after dinner, there's a keycard slipped under the door. He picks it up, turns it over. He wishes he could pretend he didn't know who it was from. But Yuri Plisetsky isn't subtle. He wouldn't have left the key to his room; he would have just shown up himself, probably scarcely dressed.

Otabek wants that, but he doesn't know if Yuri is ready, and he can tell by the little piece of plastic in his hands that someone—someone he'd rather not think about—thinks _he's_ ready.

"Not on your life," Otabek says to the keycard, and drops it in the drawer of the bedside table. He lies back on the bed, his arms crossed beneath his head on the pillow, and settles in to watch television, even if he can't understand a word.

Without really intending to, Otabek is asleep suddenly, and swamped by dreams.

_"You wanna try it?" Jean-Jacques asks, face earnest. He's been chasing after Otabek like a lost puppy since Otabek arrived in Montreal three weeks ago. Otabek doesn't have the heart to tell him how annoying he is._

_"No," he replies, turning over in the bed. By some horrible circumstance, he's been put in Jean-Jacques's room, and Jean-Jacques has a double bed. Jean-Jacques's parents have said that they don't have an extra cot anymore, but if he's uncomfortable at all they can put him on the couch in the living room._

_Despite the fact that sharing a bed with a teenage boy he's only just met is awkward, he'd rather do that than be exposed out in the living room. What if he snores and wakes up the house? What if he farts in his sleep?_

_Why these things don't bother him lying next to Jean-Jacques, he doesn't know._

_"Come onnn," Jean-Jacques wheedles. "I've never had a friend before."_

_Maybe it's the fact that Jean-Jacques says that, but Otabek rolls back over to face him._

_"You serious?" Otabek asks, watching the way the blue of Jean-Jacques's eyes glints in the dark, a shaft of moonlight spread across the floor and permeating the blackness just a little._

_"All the other kids my parents have trained were too much younger." Jean-Jacques sucks the pad of his thumb into his mouth. "And they didn't like me anyway."_

I don't really like you either, _Otabek thinks, but his parents raised him to be polite, and besides, he would never say that to someone._

 _Still he's shocked and surprised when Jean-Jacques leans forward, presses their lips together. He didn't really think he'd actually_ do _it. He doesn't move, stunned into stillness, and after a moment Jean-Jacques drops his head onto the pillow. His eyes are very bright._

_"I guess you don't like me either."_

~&~

"Otabek!" JJ cries, "Davai!"

Otabek glares at him, wondering how JJ could have forgotten, and clomps by him in his skates after his program.

"I mean it, Beks—"

But Otabek is gone, past him, past listening. He stopped listening to JJ a long time ago.

~&~

"I didn't mean it, Beks—" JJ is saying, grasping for his sleeve, his eyes wet. Otabek is beyond caring what he thinks, how he feels. It hurts like shattered glass has filled his chest cavity, and he only has enough sympathy for his own pain.

"Fucking forget it," he says, yanking his arm back. "Don't you think you did enough?"

"It was _one kiss_ ," JJ protests. "And she's my girlfriend!"

"If you don't know what you did wrong, I can't help you," Otabek says, and slams the bedroom door as he walks out.

He finds himself outside, sitting on the Leroys' glider, smoking an illicit cigarette and trying not to think about JJ. He wants to go home—to Kazakhstan. But that's not an option. He can't leave. He has to stay here and train until it's all finished, even if it's finished with JJ. With Jean.

Otabek closes his eyes, blows out the smoke through his mouth and nose, and remembers.

"You'll be my first, all right?" Jean strips his shirt over his head. "You can do whatever."

_Whatever_ turns out to be kissing his soft skin, plunging his fingers into virgin tightness, licking his fingertips afterward and using them to pluck at perky pink nipples.

It's hot, humid kisses beneath the blankets on a hot summer's night.

It was opening up that body around his cock, taking and taking even as JJ gave everything he had.

But there's something wrong with JJ. With Jean. Something that makes the shape of his name in his mind feel like it's carving the lines of it on his heart, but not in a good way.

Because somewhere along the line, when Otabek was fooling around and falling in love, Jean was simply falling, and there doesn't seem to be a bottom. At least, Otabek hasn't witnessed him find it yet.

The cigarette feels rough against his lips, not at all like those sweet pink lips. The smoke scalds his lungs, not at all like the sweet blue eyes trained on his when his cock is sunk deep inside.

Otabek opens his eyes.

Jean—JJ, now—is standing in the yard, watching him. His face is shiny. His feet are bare. There's blood running down the insides of his legs, beneath his shorts.

_Fuck._

~&~

It doesn't matter if the keycard feels like a glowing ember in the drawer, Otabek is not going to pick it up. He's not going to put his shoes back on or leave the room. He's not going down that road again.

JJ is poison. He's not a bad person—Otabek will never lay that at his door—but he's damaged, and Otabek isn't the duct tape that can put him back together. He understood that long ago.

Still, some damaged part of _himself_ opens the door at the knock.

He's not surprised to see blue eyes or that much taller frame, those broad shoulders, that sweet pink tint to his cheeks. He's not surprised at all.

"Please, Beks. Let me explain."

"You can't," Otabek says darkly. There is no explanation on earth that can undo what JJ did. "Tell me." He lets JJ into the room. "Tell me, can you glue the pieces you shattered back together?"

"I-I don't," JJ says, tousling his hair with a nervous hand, his eyes darting everywhere. He's high, jonesing, not for drugs, but for some way to ease the wildness in his mind and heart. Those blue eyes are vague, almost out of focus. It's only a second, then it snaps back into place, and they burn with a fevered light.

"You can't," Otabek tells him. "That's the answer, JJ. Go back to Izzy."

"Beks, I can't… I need you." JJ tries to reach for him, but Otabek evades him easily. "It hasn't been the same since… since you left. I know I shouldn't have, but—"

"Blood," Otabek says, "sweat, and tears. You were the whole package, weren't you? I don't wanna be dragged back down that road."

"Just kiss me," JJ says, and Otabek trails a hand along the wooden carved back of the desk chair in the hotel room.

The snapped pieces of his heart want him to say _yes_. To yell it. To crush their mouths together and feel JJ grow hard against his belly again.

It would be so goddamn easy.

The low light flickers and JJ moves and just like that Otabek steps farther back. The red line on JJ's arm isn't from falling at the rink.

_Fuck_.

~&~

"I love you." The words fall like stones into a rushing river. Washed away as soon as they're spoken. Jean is wild today, drunk on whiskey and high as a kite on something only he can get—his own mind—and he's trying to steal Otabek's cigarettes.

"I love you!" This time the words are shouted, as Jean dances on top of the bed, wobbling as the mattress moves beneath his feet. The whiskey bottle is under the bed, and Otabek is smoking one cig after another because somewhere along the line, Jean decided he loves Otabek, and Otabek's not ready for that.

"I love you…" whispered, as he falls onto his ass on the mattress. "Beks." Whined, as he reaches for the one person who's ever said he was his friend. And that's the problem: Jean doesn't know, he doesn't _understand_.

"Get some sleep," Otabek says, stubbing out the last cig on the windowsill and getting to his feet. He shrugs out of his leather jacket. "I'm gonna brush my teeth."

"I love you—" Broken, and unrefined, and voice cracking, the words splinter into Otabek's heart. Oh how _badly_ he wants Jean to mean them, but Jean is off his meds again, certain that life is better this way.

"Seriously, Jean. Lie down."

There's blood on the sheets when he gets in. Blood, and tears, and big pleading blue eyes that are begging for a panacea that Otabek isn't capable of giving.

It's too much, but it's not enough, and Otabek wants to go home.

~&~

"Do me good one last time, Beks," JJ begs. His personality fills the room, and Otabek feels smothered.

"No," he says. "Get out."

JJ almost trips over to him, the healing scar on his arm fresh, oh so fresh. He captures Otabek's face, twines his fingers in the long part of his hair, draws their lips together, and it's sweet, easy, just like drawing a breath, and Otabek reaches back, and it's so easy, like drawing back a fist—

~&~

"It didn't mean anything," JJ whimpers, tearing at the fresh scab on his wrist. "I only kissed her—Beks, I love _you_ , don't you know that by now?"

"You can't love anyone," Otabek says. He watches the blood run, the jerky, frantic movements of JJ's nails against his flesh. "You need help."

"Don't say that," JJ says, sounding desperate. "Don't give up on me, Beks. Please. Please. _Please_."

It's too late. Doesn't he know it's too late? Otabek lights another cigarette. He pulls the smoke into his lungs, and he knows it's just as bad for him as JJ, but at least he can kick _one_ bad habit. He stares at the cloying red of the liquid as it drips; he can smell it on the air. It smells like JJ—not just the copper of his blood, but the scent of his skin, his sweat. It smells like the taste of his lips.

"You need help, Jean," Otabek repeats. "I'm not— I can't be that for you. Not anymore."

"Beks—" He takes one step forward, two. His knees buckle, and he falls to the soiled grass. Where are his parents? Otabek wonders. He inhales the smoke one last time, blowing it out in a perfect circle. He's done his share of bad things, from doing lines of coke to taking JJ's virginity. From fucking a boy he'll never see again to drinking himself insensate and puking in a stranger's bushes.

He's not gonna do the bad thing this time, though. He pulls out his cell phone even as the color leaches from JJ's face, leaving him ashy, his blue eyes losing their glitter.

"911, what is your emergency?"

~&~

—and he punches JJ, watching those sweet pink cheeks turn red, watching the left one swell, bruise.

"It was one time," JJ protests again, hand flying up to cup his cheek, to assess the damage. "I thought about you, you know, while I was in there."

"Don't try to kiss me again," Otabek warns tightly, shaking his fist. It's been awhile since he punched anyone, and he's sorry JJ had to be the one to break the drought, but there it is. _In there_ is the psychiatric hospital where JJ spent a week the summer he was sixteen.

The good natured expression nearly always on JJ's face falters, then vanishes. He steps back, eyes glaring at Otabek.

"Yeah, you know, I thought of you. How you were the reason."

"Don't put that shit on me," Otabek growls, and now he wants to punch him again. When he was fifteen, he'd fallen in love with a broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, beautiful teenager who he thought was going to be the world.

Instead he was the end of it, and of everything Otabek trusted about life. He'd betrayed Otabek with a few slashes of a razor blade, and he's never been sorry about it. It doesn't look like he's going to start now.

When he was fifteen, he saved JJ's life. The least JJ could do is let him live his without any more interference.

"You, Beks. You didn't— I thought you loved me. You _left_ me. I had to do it."

Otabek stares him down, expressionless from long practice.

"I didn't make you try to kill yourself," Otabek says softly. "Now get out."

The door opens, and a pretty blond head pokes in. Green eyes guileless, Yuri Plisetsky asks,

"Am I interrupting?"

_Fuck_.

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me (helm-puppet-trash) on [Tumblr](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com)!


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